


Impostor Syndrome

by SwiftyTheWriter



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Because time travel, Betty Cooper-centric, Child Abuse, Dark Betty Cooper, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Not Season/Series 04 Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator, author just wants everyone to be friends dammit, buckle up folks because this'll be a wild ride, critical look at most of the parenting honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftyTheWriter/pseuds/SwiftyTheWriter
Summary: In which Penelope Blossom played for keeps and a dramatically different Betty Cooper wakes up in a life she can barely recognize.
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom & Betty Cooper
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	1. 0.1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hour of the Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980413) by [Mhalachai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai). 

> Trigger warning for the immediate loss of a family member. Read the tags, folks.

“How’d we end up here?”

FP couldn’t say how long he sat there. Long enough that what meager light had been passed through the windows was now long gone, the room only illuminated by a forgotten light from the kitchen. It was a peaceful scene, maybe, taken out of context. Whiling the night away on an overpriced chair in a living room he half owned, with his daughter slumbering feet away on the couch. Something he dreamed about, to have the means and the ability to provide, to be a family man. 

The clock ticked, seconds turning into hours, into days and he wished desperately for the old trailer that whined and creaked, for the leathers around his chest, for everything....he had had. 

It had all gone to hell. 

Unable to sit still for one moment longer he stood, only to freeze at the resulting clatter. In his haste the papers he had been trying to put outta mind were now decorating the carper, their contents scattered. His eyes quickly found his daughter, feeling a guilty sense of relief when she didn’t stir. It had taken him hours to get her to sleep. 

FP swooped down to collect the errant mess of paper, swearing mentally. Stacking them without care or reason for order. He could sort it out later when, if he had the energy.

He grabbed another paper and felt himself falter. It was nothing at first glance, shiny paper and fancy script doing nothing to hide that it was just another catalog from a business trying to make a buck. Something he wouldn’t think twice about given half the chance if Fred’s wife hadn’t all but shoved it in his hands several hours ago, while he tried to come to grips with the world falling out from under him.

It was the same funeral home they were using, Mary had informed him with a shaking voice, he was assured it was a good service, affordable, he just stared at the damn thing with the glossy, inviting pages and wondered what the hell kind of coffin his son would like. 

Because fuck. His son. Jug. Hours spent waiting for a sign, something, anything in that sterile waiting room with Betty’s hand clasped tightly in his as if it was her only lifeline. Somehow it hadn’t felt real, then. Jug had a kind of luck he never seen, facing worse and worse odds and somehow coming out on top, strutting around like he was invincible. And fuck, maybe along the way it convinced him too, gave him a way to sleep at night as his son found himself into deeper shit.

Then the doctor came out and it all fell apart.

The day seemed hazy after that, memories fogged and clouded with feeling. Somewhere between shouting at Mary and bloodying his fists on one of his deputies for not letting him into the damn station-not letting him see what was left, and getting home to hear his daughter crying by his wife’s handwriting, he started pricing a coffin for his son’s girl too. Least he could do. God knows when Alice would get back, and it wasn’t like the kid had anyone else. Just them.

Just him, now.

FP stared dumbly for a moment when a drop of liquid fell on the cover, then another, then another. He rubbed his face roughly and sunk down as his strength left him. A gasp tore it’s way out his throat, and the noise startles him. Right, quiet, he has to be quiet, Jelly is sleeping. 

“Dad?”

God, he’s such a shit parent.

He lifts his head and meets her eyes. Hair in disarray, half risen from her nest of blankets on the couch, face open and confused and his heart breaks a little more as the realization begins to set in. “Dad,” She chokes out. “Dad it isn’t real, tell me-” There’s something in her tone, in the way she tries to keep her lips from trembling, his little girl trying to be so tough and it’s like looking at a goddamn mirror of her brother and he can’t-

He watches Jelly’s face twist, head shaking in a rictus of denial as his vision blurs. Arms wrap around him and he holds back even tighter. 

Reality blurred and he could’ve been holding Jug, he had been that small once-had he ever held him then, or Betty tucked under his chin, flecks of rust coming off on his clothes just hours before she did what he couldn’t, but Jelly bit out a sob and the illusion fell apart. He couldn’t keep kidding himself. 

It was just them, now.

All he could do was hold onto his little girl and pray he wouldn’t fail her too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of suicide, murder, a panic attack, and a mental break down in general. Safe reading, guys.
> 
> Edit: I made a few minor changes in the formatting so this would be a bit easier to read. This is essentially a series of flashbacks told in descending order of most recent to oldest. I say essentially because time travel complicates things. Hope this clears it up!

“You have five minutes,” the FBI agent warned her, looking again behind them as if he expected to get caught any second. She repressed the urge to do the same, clenching her free hand into a fist and then relaxing.

“Thank you,” Betty told him and tried to sound sincere. She meant it. She did. Without his help, she would’ve been stopped entering the station. Falling back on long practice, she forced a smile.

He looked at her and then looked away with a grimace. “Five minutes,” He repeated, foot starting to tap nervously. “After that, tell Smith we’re done.”

He reached for the door but Betty stopped him. “I need to talk with her on my own.” She told him. “I’ll be quick,” She added when he looked like he was about to protest. He frowned, but with another look down the hall, he consented.

She entered and the door closed with a solid thump behind her. Alone, Betty felt at odds suddenly. Doubt clawed up her throat. What am I doing here, she asked herself because she hadn’t thought it would be that quick. That easy. She hadn’t been thinking at all.

She just wanted it to stop.

She could go home. Her common sense was screaming it. Knock on the door and say she wanted to leave, it was that simple. But where was home? The Penbrooke, Archie’s place, her childhood home? Her eyes burned. She wasn’t sure if she would be welcome even if she tried. Not that she would blame them. Winning wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

Footsteps sounded across the tile. She tensed as they grew closer, not turning her head.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Penelope Blossom said, “What brings my favorite niece to visit?”

Betty turned around slowly. Penelope leaned against the bars of the cell, offering her a smile. She didn’t look like a monster so much as a rumpled middle-aged woman. Dirt stained her finery, the fresh bandages that wrapped around her shoulder and forehead all the more stark against it.

Penelope shifted and tried to cover a wince. Betty felt faint a stab of pride in her cousin. Cheryl had never been the forgiving type.

“What,” Penelope continued, her smile growing not in size but satisfaction. “Nothing to say?”

She slipped the gun from where she had hidden it in the folds of her skirt and watched the expressions shift on Penelope’s face, smile faltering. “What,” Betty repeated, voice horse. “Nothing to say?”

“Well,” Penelope said, letting go of the bars and moving backward slightly. “Aren’t you all grown up? It felt just yesterday you were daddy’s little girl.” She smiled again but it looked rattled.

_Bang. Dad fell in a crumpled heap. Betty didn’t move until it was too late to save someone else._

The hit landed. Betty’s grip tightened on the gun and Penelope’s eyes locked on it. She started glancing around her as if options would magically appear. Her eyes met Betty’s with a manic gleam. “I could scream,” she threatened.

“You can try,” Betty replied. They both knew help wouldn’t come fast enough.

Penelope’s face crumpled into a scowl as she backed away another half step. “What do you want you horrible child,” She demanded.

“One question,” Betty replied quietly, meeting her eyes. “Was it worth it?”

“What?”

“I said,” Betty stepped forward, eyes dark. “Was. It. Worth. It?” Everything she was trying to suppress came to the forefront, causing her to physically shake. “When you dragged us all out there to kill us? When you poured poison into my dad’s mind? When you tortured your own daughter for years? When you made me watch my friends die,” She was almost yelling now, nose inches away from the bars. “Was it fucking worth it?”

Penelope huffed incredulously, eyes flicking away for a moment. “Is that really what this is all about?” She asked. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

It was Betty’s turn to look away, breathing heavily, struggling to regain control. The anger and despair were threatening to drown her and she was half tempted to let them, but not yet. She still had a role to play.

“What did you expect,” Penelope continued. “A heartfelt apology? You come in here, waving a gun and, what, think I’d realize all the wrong I’ve ever done? I thought you were smarter than that. What were you hoping to accomplish?”

“Nothing,” Betty said after a long moment. That was it. She closed her eyes and when she opened them she felt tears track down her cheeks. She was so tired. “I just wanted to know.” In a smooth motion, she lifted her gun and fired.

Penelope stood in shock for a moment, touching her hand to her throat and saw it come away bloody. She held Betty’s gaze for a moment, eyes wide and wet, before collapsing.

The door slammed open, the FBI agent who had let her in stopped a pace in what she assumed was horror. She could hear footsteps pounding from outside. She cocked the gun and put it in her mouth, ignoring the burn of the heated metal.

“Wait, no!”

Betty pulled the trigger and she fell.

Something grabbed her and

she

was

pulled

back.

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Betty said into the sudden constricting space of the car. Something rang in her ears, a blackness at the edge of her vision.

Too soon. Too soon. Too soon.

Betty blinked heavily and tried to speak. Everything felt wrong. “Why wouldn’t Mom tell me?” She asked anyway. “About any of it?”

“I don’t know,” Charles, her possible brother, and god that was a lot to unpack, said. He tried for a smile, but it wasn’t very convincing. Betty reeling thought she could see the resemblance. “I think she was trying to protect you.”

She couldn’t breathe, she realized after a moment. It was too much. Betty scrabbled for the door handle, wanting to go back to running, to numbness, to away but a hand wrapped around her bicep firmly.

“It’s okay, Betty,” Charles soothed, and tugged her away from the door and wrapping his arms around her. She wanted to fight his grip, but when he ran his free hand over her hair, she felt something break at the touch. The gentleness was painful, a reminder of what she couldn’t have.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Static and white noise. A soothing background to the hitches of breath and sniffling.

“I don’t understand.” She repeated when she could speak.

It was just too much. Her mind was reeling from the revelations that just kept coming. Her world was crumbling underneath her and she had no idea how to fix it. The last good thing in her life had died in an operating room. There was nothing now but kindness being offered by a stranger.

She felt Charles hesitate before speaking. “Betty, you have to know every choice Alice made was out of love for you.”

She shook her head, because couldn’t he see things were ridiculously, blindingly simple?. Her mom wasn’t a victim of Edgar’s manipulations, and that meant she had left willingly. Mom didn’t warn her before she spent months pretending-didn’t tell her about her own brother, and that meant she clearly didn’t trust her.

And after it all, she didn’t even come back after…

_“I’m afraid of Betty,”_ Her mother’s voice floated up from the recesses of her mind, and her nails bit into her palms on instinct, no one left to stop her. The sharp sting only brought momentary relief.

Betty wondered when their relationship broke irreparably and she just didn’t notice it.

A warm arm squeezed Betty tighter and the contact suddenly felt too much. She broke away on instinct, knocking against the door in her haste, and wiped her eyes with her arm to meet Charles’s gaze. The sympathy hadn’t softened.

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Bet-” His phone rang and his gaze dropped, irritation passing over his face before disappearing.

He shut off the screen, and met her eyes, “Betty,” he tried to continue but the phone rang again.

Openly frowning now, he looked with an apology before taking it. The frown deepened into a scowl the more he listened. “What do you mean the local LEO’s….yeah, I get that. Sheriff’s kid my ass kidnapping is a felony-”

Sheriff’s kid. Jughead. Betty sat straighter, heart in her throat. They were talking about Penelope Blossom’s case.

“Look,” Charles continued, disgruntled. “Call the head office, talk to the boss. They can’t keep freezing us out like this.” He hung up the phone, still glaring at the screen. He turned to her like he forgot she was there, visibly furious. Remembrance hit, his face fell slack and the sympathetic look returned.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” He tried to apologize, but Betty wasn't paying attention. Her mind was turning quicker and quicker. “As I was saying, if I can do anything to help you, just name it.”

For the first time, things seemed unabiding clear. Betty met Charles’s eyes. “I want a meeting with Penelope Blossom.”

The car was beginning to dissolve around her, but she paid it no mind along with the tugging in her gut. She was too caught up in her thoughts to recognize even when her vision went dark.

She wondered where she could find a-

* * *

The sentence fell like a gunshot.

FP reacted first, getting to his feet quickly enough that his chair squealed with the motion. He strode towards the doctor, saying something that Betty couldn’t quite register. Movement and sound exploded into action, but it seemed unimportant over the drumming in her ears and the dawning realization.

The exhaustion was thick and clinging, an apt companion to the pain that greeted her every time she moved or took a deep breath. But, it was softened by the growing numbness in her chest. Inhale, exhale. Blink. It all felt like it belonged to a stranger.

“He’s dead,” Betty thinks numbly. Inhale, exhale. It should be the worst thing she’s ever thought but she didn’t feel anything. Reality gone and blunted. The progression of her thoughts was simple, “They’re all dead.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” The doctor said, the words coming out with a practiced edge. He shot a look of alarm towards the receptionist when FP intruded on his personal space, grabbing him by his lapels. The lady behind the desk’s eyes widened, hand going to her phone. “There was nothing that could be done-”

“BULLSHIT! That’s my son-”

It was like a movie, and Betty thought idly. Jug would love that, she knew. She had half a mind to ask him if he thought the setting was more Hitchcock or Tarantino. When she, if she... Her eyes drifted downwards, she felt her world go unsteady and something claw it’s way up in her throat.

Red against pale skin. She had his blood on her hands.

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to calm down.”

Betty lurched forward, nearly unbalancing, and ran blindly out the door. The stark white walls of the hallway lurched and twisted with the blurring of her vision, before dissolving. Frantically, she tried to turn back but the floor fell out from under her feet.

There was nothing to hold onto, she fell backward, into the dark.

* * *

Between one heartbeat and the next, Betty almost staggered from the weight at her side. trying to clear her vision and focus. Tears fell from her vision when she blinked. Everything was wrong but she couldn't get distracted now, she couldn’t afford it.

“If you don’t kill me, Betty, then I’ll kill both of you,” Her dad promised. His expression could be termed sympathetic if one ignored the pistol. Unable to speak, she shook her head and her grip tightened on Jug’s ratted shirt.

It wasn’t fair, she wanted to scream. Didn’t he know that? How was he so far gone that he couldn’t see that this was sick?

She felt Jughead shift away from her to take more of his own weight. She turned in alarm but he wasn’t looking at her. He stared down her father for a long moment. He chuckled wetly, breaking the silence.

Turning to her, she could see he was grinning. “Do you think it’s too late to ask for his blessing,” He asked thickly, heavily overcompensating for the swelling of his jaw. Mockery was in every line of his body language. Humor was always Jughead’s first and last line of defense.

His eyes were dead, though. They had been since Archie-

Betty turned away, unable to play along. Her father was fixed on their byplay with an intensity. “Why?” She bit out, half-strangled by the force of it. “Dad-” Betty stopped. She knew better, she did, but they were dead back there her friends and she couldn’t understand why. She didn’t know how her dad, her daddy could-

Betty closed her eyes and felt a hand slip in her own, offering support. She couldn’t keep lying to herself. She knew exactly how. Jughead gripped her tightly as if he could hear the direction her thoughts were going. The scabs on her palms still ached.

“It’s our destiny.” Her dad spoke, voice fevered. She opened her eyes. He didn’t step closer but he looked softer, somehow. A trick of the light. “I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you, that we were the same. Polly might have been Alice’s but you were all mine. And this, Betty,” He gestured at them carelessly with his gun, “is how it always ends for our family. All of this was to bring you to the truth.”

He was fucking crazy.

“Now,” Dad shifted, cocking his pistol, “you have to the count of three."

She stared in fascination, unable to make sense of any of it.

“One.”

“Betty,” Jughead said urgently. He shook harshly when she kept staring. She sucked in a breath and forced herself to focus. Jughead looked like he wanted to say something, but was cut off as she pulled him in by hand and pressed her lips to his roughly, no time for tenderness. She pulled back and stared, trying to burn the moment into her mind.

Bruised and bloodied. His eyes were dead but fear and helpless anger were written in every line of his body, pretenses dropped. His grip had become crushing as if he could hold her in place. He didn’t continue whatever it was he was going to say. She regretted it.

“Two.”

She had to move. Betty wrenched her hand away and lunged, not allowing herself to look back. There wasn’t enough time. Her hand clasped around the handle and she steadied her form.

There wasn’t enough time to think. She just wanted to make him stop. Make him her dad again. Make him see she wasn’t a killer.

_Veronica swiped the bottle before she could, and downed it whole. “Sorry, B” She said unsteadily, her voice wobbled. She ran a hand over her eyes and the mascara tracked. “But I can’t watch you die, too.” Veronica managed a smile. Then her convulsions began._

At least, not on purpose.

Any words died in her throat at the look on his face. The caring expression had vanished leaving only sternness. There would be no reasoning with him.

He always hated back talk, anyway.

Desperately trying to think her way out, to find a way out without losing someone else, she planted her feet like she was taught, sighting her pistol. She watched her dad do the same, but… from the way he angled his gun his aim was off. Like he was aiming behind her. The pieces came together in a rush.

Jughead.

“Three.”

Bang.

The gun fell from her hands, making no sound as it hit the ground. Her ears were ringing, she realized. Why were they ringing? Right, from the gunshot. She reached for her ear hesitantly, only to brush up against something wet.

Was she bleeding?

Oh.

She rubbed her face jerkily. Right. She was crying.

A red-haired woman strolled out between the trees, clapping her hands in a slow rhythm. She stopped in front of the corpse and kicked it delicately. Pieces of skull shifted and blood came away on her shoe. She frowned and wiped it on the grass, saying something that didn’t reach Betty’s ears.

The woman turned then and smiled slowly at her. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “You won,” Penelope Blossom said, slow enough Betty could read it on her lips. She let her words sink in a moment and then gestured behind Betty.

Uncomprehending, Betty turned and sheer terror bit though her numbness. There was another body lying on the forest floor. It was Jughead. She moved, stumbling turning into a run. If she was screaming, she couldn’t hear it.

If she was screaming….

If she was…..

If she….

The darkness swallowed her again, pulling her back-

* * *

“Sister Woodhouse will show you out.” Penelope said graciously, as they got to their feet with varying amounts of reluctance. Standing, Betty hesitated, something suddenly feeling wrong, heavy and unreal. She caught her reflection in a gravy boat, a pale thing stared back, distorted.

Across the table, Veronica stood and moved her in a slow arc, knocking over a goblet of wine. It spilled, dripping onto the carpet. Time snapped back into place.

“Oops,” V said, completely unapologetic. A huff of laughter came from behind her. Making eye contact with their host, Archie reached past Veronica and slid a collection of unused dishes on the floor, letting them shatter. He didn’t apologize. Veronica laughed in delight.

Penelope gestured sharply and Sister Woodhouse cocked her gun. Betty felt her stomach swoop, levity dying with the reminder of the threat. She could see the same written on her friend’s faces.

Jughead tugged her closer to his side as they walked. “You okay,” He asked, appearing casual but she could hear the undercurrents of worry.

She thought back to the human body parts in the fridge, the way it felt to be dragged against her will, her place on Edgar’s table, and the general insanity of the past day and promptly stopped thinking. “Ask me after we deal with this crazy bitch,” She said. Hopefully by then she’d be able to pack it away as yet another nightmare.

“Amen to that, sister,” Veronica said, looping her way to Betty’s other side. Archie followed closely behind, gaze fixed V’s form a moment too long before looking away. “Honestly, I’m beginning to think there’s something in the water of this little town.”

“Isn’t there,” Archie questioned lightly, tone a bit too innocent for Betty to buy. “I swear I remember hearing about that.”

Veronica waved her hand dismissively. “Something beyond the fizzle rocks.”

Archie started, and then looked at V incredulously. “Wait, there was actually,” He began then sighed. “...I should’ve stayed in prison.”

“Probably would’ve been safer,” Veronica admitted. A pensive look passed over her face. “You think they offer vacation packages?”

Betty covered her mouth, smothering a hysterical little giggle. Veronica caught her eyes and it became a full blown laugh, loud and contagious. Archie was next and then Jug finally broke. Stress was probably a factor, but it was ridiculous, really. Something like this would only happen in their fucking insane nightmare of a town.

“Silence,” Sister Woodhouse snapped, reminding them all of her presence. It didn’t work as well as she seemed to expect.

“Yeah, silence.” Jughead snarked with no hidden amount of glee.

“Not soulful enough for you, beanie boy?” Veronica said, still struggling to contain herself. “I could quote some Hitchcock, just for you.”

Jughead huffed and pressed his nose into Betty’s hair. “You’re not blonde enough to pull it off.”

“Okay, suddenly I know way too much about you two’s foreplay.” Archie groaned at that, making an exaggerated sick face.

“Stop,” Sister Woodhouse snapped. Betty could feel Jughead straighten for another insult before she added, ”We have arrived.”

Penelope Blossom glided through the trees at the edge of the lawn, with seemingly no care for her extravagant getup. Betty’s hands balled into fists as she ground to a halt, no doubt waiting for the most dramatic moment to deliver another speech.

Jughead's hand reached for one of her own, prying it out of it’s clench and lacing their fingers. Veronica, who must have caught the motion, did the same. Betty’s fear lessened as anger and a confidence drawn from the company of her friends took it’s place.

She glared at Penelope. Bring it, Bitch. They had gotten through so many things, and they’ got through this one too. Together.

The woman opened her mouth, but no words left as the world dissolved into darkness. The hands grounding her to reality slipped from her grasp and Betty fell backward.

* * *

The hallway seemed to impossibly curve and dip for a moment, like something out of a dream.

Betty reeled back, but the room snapped into focus, the same as it had always been. She rubbed her eyes wearily. The exhaustion must be catching up to her. It felt like it. Her whole body was beginning to ache, the remains from the dance making themselves known. She shifted the toiletries to her other arm and regretted agreeing to go on a tour of the facility when she wanted nothing more to be in bed.

Her bed. With Jughead. She closed her eyes for a long moment and let herself want, before forcing herself back into focus. It wasn’t that she thought the farmies would try anything, not tonight anyway, but caution was an ingrained response she wasn’t looking to loose anytime soon.

Passing by, the overhead light seemed to stab into her eye and Betty grimaced. She recognized the signs. Adrenaline come down. Never fun.

“And this is where you’ll be staying for the time being,” Mom said brightly, as she unlocked the door and strolled ahead into a small room. She paused as if at a loss of what to do with the already furnished room, before settling on fluffing the lone pillow, not a movement wasted for efficiency.

Mom had volunteered to run the tour after Edgar’s brought it up. Presumably to help her settle in, but Betty suspected it was meant more to keep an eye on her. After all, she doubted anyone had forgotten this wasn’t the first time she had lived in the building,

Polly begged off accompanying them to turn in early. She had a morning nursery shift, apparently something she had been doing since living there. It was another moment of dissonance, as Betty couldn’t reconcile the sister she knew fierce in her right to be a mother now content to just play caretaker to the children she gave away, but, she supposed things changed in the past few years.

Betty’s hand brushed over one of her bruises unconsciously. Some more than most.

Mom looked around, seeming to register for the first time the sparse setting and Betty’s arm full of borrowed necessities. “You’ll be able to earn more luxuries, of course. There’s sign up sheets in the cafeteria-”

Betty wondered if her mother realized that was the first time she looked at her since Betty came to tell her about dad.

“I’m good,” Betty said sharply, spurred on by the pounding in her skull. She looked at her mother and saw her body language close off. Wrong move. Betty suppressed a grimace. Drawing on what energy she had left, she cleared her expression and put on her best smile, “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“I’ll let you get some rest, then.” Mom said neutrally, beginning to walk out. Betty felt a sharp stab in her chest. This was the first time in weeks they had been together for longer for five minutes and she was leaving. Irrationally, Betty was convinced if she let her walk out the door they would back to being like strangers.

“Mom, wait,” Betty said quickly. Mom turned around, eyes questioning but Betty had nothing to say. Her mind was blank. After a minute of trying to grasp at straws and feeling herself strain her mother’s patience, she finally said, “Goodnight.”

An unreadable expression crossed her mother’s face before it returned to neutrality. “Goodnight, Elizabeth,” Mom said, and she left, closing the door behind her.

Betty dropped her toiletries beside the bed and sat down on it harshly. She pulled her hair out of her ponytail and buried her face in her hands, trying to ignore how the walls of her room made her skin crawl. Confining and uncomfortably close to the cell they had been not months ago.

She felt more alone than ever. She considered reaching for her phone and calling up Jug, or maybe Ronnie or Archie, but... it was late and she didn’t have the energy to deal with their concern or well-meaning offers of protection. She knew what she was doing was right, was the best choice she had available. She couldn’t live with dad targeting them again, and this way she had the opportunity to investigate what was happening with Edgar and maybe...maybe save what was left of her family in the process.

_Mom left, shutting the door behind her._

She let out a sigh and opened her eyes, turning to settle in, only to pause. A shirt laid across the bedspread with the cheery letters spelling out, “The Farm” across it's chest, having missed the pile she had dropped beside the bed. She stared at it for a long moment before balling it up and throwing it across the room in a sharp motion.

Betty took a breath and tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. She laid on top of the covers and closed her eyes, expecting it to be a long night. Despite her thoughts, she felt herself slowly

slipping

into darkness.

* * *

Things came by faster and faster, some just sensations, heart-pounding fear, the taste of a strawberry milkshake, foreign hands on her, a chaste kiss, the smell of Veronica’s perfume,

Jug sitting on their bed, remains of violence written across his skin. Betty held the first aid kit tightly, not allowing her hands to shake. He fell out a window, she reminded herself. It could've been so much worse. The thought lacked comfort. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

Blink.

A match lit, a candle dropped and the room goes up flames and for the first time in a while, she feels settled-

Blink.

A motorcycle roared between her thighs as she balled into the woods at a breakneck speed. She could feel Kevin tugging at her waist, an unspoken plea to slow down, to be more cautious, but she couldn’t get caught just yet-

Blink.

Veronica’s knees buckled in the courthouse bathroom, and Betty’s arms flew around her, trying to keep one thing from breaking in her life. “He’s innocent, B, and Daddy said-and Daddy said because of me-” she gasped out, and Betty stroked her hair and tried not to break too.

“We’ll get him back,” She promised V. She had no idea how but she knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t stop until they made the promise become a reality. They’d get Archie back and then everything...everything would be just fine-

Blink.

Betty grinned as she came out from under the water to take a breath. Veronica was cheering madly from the side with a drink in hand as Archie and Jug were doing their level best to wrestle each other into the water.

It was a good idea to come out, a break all of them needed. She let herself soak in the sunlight for a long moment before she realized that Veronica’s unguarded back was to her. With a flash of mischievousness, she lunged forward and-

She blinked. The events shifted. The dark waited.

* * *

“I want everyone to understand. When they find us,” Dad said and she had never been more terrified in her life-

Betty blinked, feeling like she was coming up from a deep sleep. “Dad,” She said hazily, meeting his eyes. Betty looked around in confusion to the room, the atmosphere. She shook her head, trying to put things back together. Her tongue was thick and it all felt wrong. “Dad, what’s going on-”

Too soon, her head rang. Too soon. Too soon.

“Quiet, Elizabeth.” Her mother snapped. Her mother was here? Of course her mother was here, this was their home. Her and Polly. And her dad was, and her dad was-

_Bang_.

Trying to kill her. Polly’s face stared back at her, wide-eyed and terrified. Them. Trying to kill them. Betty sucked in a breath, willing her head to clear. Right. That made sense.

“Well, I should’ve known. You’ve always been a mama’s boy.” Mom sneered, trying to...she was trying to distract him.

Things fell into place. Betty lurched to her feet, vision unsteady and ignoring Polly’s grasping hands. Her hands wrapped around the fireplace shovel and-

and-

she fell.

* * *

Things flew by quicker, too fast to grasp, a serpent's jacket, blood on her kitchen floor, Archie's face as the coffin closes on him, Cheryl Blossom covered with ash saying something, and then...

* * *

The spotlight blinded her for a moment, and she felt her voice cut off. What she was going to say forgotten. Some kind of confusion stole over her and she looked off the stage as if she didn’t know what to expect.

The auditorium was packed, of course. She had known that. It was an event, after all, and the town of Riverdale had come to watch. She caught familiar faces in the crowd but she was still searching for something and then...she saw Jughead. Something in Betty settled at his sight.

She looked at her hands and found the notes for her speech and felt the tension loosen even more as the words slotted themselves back in her mind. She knew what to say.

“Riverdale must do better. We must do better.” The audience applauded and her eyes widened, horror breaking through as she realized-as she remembered what she just did. She grabbed for the microphone to do something, to take it back, but it fell through her grasp like smoke.

Heart pounding she stepped backwards-

* * *

“But I can’t give you the answer that you want,” Archie told her, expression pleading and all she could focus was on that there was something wrong.

“Why?” Betty forced herself to say out loud, tongue thick and heavy. To her own ears, it sounded like something coming from underwater. She had cared about the answer moments ago, but all she could focus on was the darkness in her vision, the sudden weight that was pressing her down. What was wrong with her?

“You are so perfect.” Betty’s eyes fluttered shut, hands going to her pounding head. She could hear Archie continuing to speak but she was unable to make out the words, sounding like it came at a great distance.

Too soon. Too soon.

“-etty. Betty!” Hands were on her shoulders and Betty opened her eyes groggily. A ginger’s face was so very close to her own, familiar down to the freckle. Betty’s lips twitched into a smile even as she felt a twist in her chest.

It was so very nice to see him again.

“Arshy,” Betty tried, but her voice slurred and his eyes widened with panic. Not looking at her he was yelling something at, something at...where were they again? “Ahsh,” she tried again, wanting to ask-wanting to ask if the shadows cradling them had always been there.

Too soon. It was almost an apology this time.

Archie was gone and she was alone once more. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the dark and slept.

* * *

The knock on the door came all too soon, a break in the sticky, tranquil darkness that had filled her form. Limbs heavy, she reached out on instinct towards the warmth of another body, stilling when her fingers came up cold. Her eyes flew open, the illusion of safety evaporating in a moment.

For the fourth time this week, she didn’t know where she was.

A jolt of adrenaline, conflicting instincts settling in a need to get away-she reacted, throwing herself backward, hands scrabbling for anything that could be used as a weapon, blood roaring in her ears-

Her feet caught on something. Betty collided with the floor face first, driving the breath out of her lungs. Her fingers curled into the carpet, desperate for purchase as she tried to force more air into her lungs even as her ribs screamed in protest. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the ache spreading throughout her body and forced herself up on unsteady arms into a sitting position.

A pink bedspread was tangled around her feet, the sight was so familiar it was almost disarming. Looking closer, her mouth went dry. It wasn’t just familiar, it was identical to the one she had thrown out months ago during the move to the Penbrooke. She jerked her head up, her jaw flaring with pain as she choked down a gasp.

Even with the light off, it was clear where she was. Pink filled her field of vision, from the remaining bedsheets to the accents on the pastel-toned wall. Her gut turned, the once comforting familiarity turned sicking. Her heartbeat picked up as suspicion began to build. Gripping the edge of the bed she pushed herself to stand, a wordless sound of pain escaping through her gritted teeth.

Her vanity was unpainted, all clutter packed neatly away. No dogeared true crime novels or unfinished homework. The very picture of her childhood bedroom with all traces of Jug stripped cleanly away.

A sharp ache arced through her chest at the thought with a touch of panic. She took a deep breath and then another, trying to focus. She racked her brain for how she ended up in the room. What was the last thing she remembered?

Betty went still. Blossom red and gunsmoke stole over her senses. “I…”

Her breath hitched. Oh god. She was going to be sick

A knock on the door cut sharply through her train of thought with all the subtlety of a gunshot. She turned, heart-pounding, who- “Betty,” Her mother’s voice sounded. “What was that noise?”

Her mom.

Her mom, who was missing.

Her mom, who was missing was outside her door.

Would FP? No. He might have let them stay with him, after, but he wouldn’t…

Her eyes flicked around the stripped parody of her childhood and had to take another breath. The timeline didn’t fit, anyway. What she did…

_The woman jerked backward, face registering surprise as the clip unloaded into her chest…_

_BANG!_

A shudder ran through her body. Smoke burned her throat. These past few days… It wasn’t...it couldn’t be a dream. It was real.

So, how? It was the million-dollar question, right next to what. She could be drugged, but from experience, she was fairly certain she was lucid. The fact that the walls weren’t trying to eat her was a big clue. She began to wonder only half hysterically if she was in hell.

“Betty!” Her doorknob turned. Her eyes widened at the sight.

Spurred into action, she spoke quickly, “Mom, it’s fine. I just fell out of bed.”

A pause. “You sound odd, are you hurt?”

The entire left side of her body throbbed in reply, “No, I’m fine.”

A long moment passed where she didn’t reply, then the doorknob was released. Betty’s knees went weak in relief. “You must have slept through your alarm. Go get dressed and come down for breakfast, you don’t want to be late on your first day.” Her footsteps sounded down the hall.

...What?

Strings cut, Betty gingerly sagged on the bed. Burying her face in her hands, she jerked away, hissing. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the corner of her eye, she turned and faced her vanity. Her face stared back at her, red-rimmed eyes and angry forming bruises on her chin. Her face bloodless and her expression drawn. She looked like a wreck. She felt like one too.

I thought it would be over.

She looked away, fingers flexing on the cool bed sheets. There was nothing there she didn’t already know. She needed… She needed a plan.

“Okay... step one, get more information.”

Betty grit her teeth against the quickly becoming flare of pain in her side as she stood and approached her vanity. She gripped the edge, lowering herself into the chair. “Guess I’m lucky,” she thought, “my face broke the fall.”

She may not know what was happening, but she did know one thing: Alice Cooper in any circumstances was a stickler for punctuality. If she wasn’t downstairs in fifteen minutes, her mom would be coming in after her.

Her hand closed around the tube of concealer, and she tried to smile at her reflection.

And maybe get some answers in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Wow, this chapter was such a pain to finish I am actually shocked I got through it. Please tell me what you think! Constructive criticism welcome as well, I'm rather worried this is confusing to read what with how I chose to display the timeline. Next chapter should come along a lot quicker since I got most of the flashbacks out of the way and I'm planning it out a bit shorter. 
> 
> Also, you might notice I changed the title. The original was always meant to be a placeholder, and I felt this one fit more. Hope you like it!
> 
> Anyway, have a fantastic day!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm really excited to be sharing this with you! This idea has not left me alone since s2 and I'm happy to get get going on it! 
> 
> Chapters will probably stay along this length to avoid burn out, and I'm sad to say my update schedule will be erratic since I have to depend on public WIFI. That being said I have a rough outline and lot of determination to get through this!
> 
> Please, guys, tell me what you think and feel free to ask any questions that come to mind. I'm a bit worried the timeline and setup isn't coming through quite clear since I was limited to how much would come out organically. Speaking of, I'm looking for a beta reader if anyone is interested or has the time. You all have a fantastic day! :)


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